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Anti-corruption Compilation part 6

This is a compilation of all the posts by user ar_david_hh who summarises anti-Corruption news of the day along with other interesting news in one comment. It is linked from the sidebar->Interesting Threads->Anti-corruption. The list is ordered by date, newest first. Date format: D/M/YYYY. All credit goes to the sub's hero ar_david_hh
Previous compilation threads: Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5
Azerbaijan attacked Artsakh on 27 September 2020, making the war to be the main topic, the updates since this date are to be found in the daily Megathreads pinned at the top of the sub for now.

submitted by Idontknowmuch to armenia [link] [comments]

Album of the Year 2019 #26: Men I Trust - Oncle Jazz

Album of the Year 2019 #26: Men I Trust - Oncle Jazz
Hello everyone and welcome back to Album of the Year 2019, the yearly series where the users of indieheads talk their favorite albums of the year. Up today, simonthedlgger goes in-depth on the massive Oncle Jazz from Men I Trust.
Artist: Men I Trust
Album: Oncle Jazz
Apple Music
I can’t believe the odds. It’s December 26th, my favorite holiday not named Halloween. A day of leftovers and familial decompression. Outside, the year is ending. Pine trees, some still webbed with lights, lay on sidewalks.
Historically, December 26th is grey and cloudless. Cold, but not necessarily wintry. A void of a day, ideal for lounging and reflection.
“Have a lay in,” says the universe.
On December 26, it is constantly evening.
And now, there is a playful bounce of synth, murmuring bass like a bear waking from a long nap ... a swell of brightness:
“You’re listening to Oncle Jazz .”
Allow yourself, listener, for seventy ephemeral, December 26th minutes, to be swept away in jazzy philosopop fantasy. All smiles, slide across the kitchen floor in your brand new socks, treat yo self to a warm beverage and snacks, nest in bed as opening titles fade like a path into the deep forest.
I can only suggest you take that path. We’re about to Oncle Jazz.
Men I Trust are a three piece indie pop band from Montreal, Quebec, Canada. The band was established by producemulti-instrumentalist Dragos Chiriac and bassist Jessy Caron in 2014. The pair released their self-titled debut that year, followed by Headroom in 2015, both of which featured numerous guest vocalists. After guitarist Emma Proulx became the permanent singer of Men I Trust, the band put out a series of successful singles from 2016 through early this year. After a few delays, Men I Trust released their third full length album and first as a trio on September 13, 2019.
Review by simonthedlgger

Men I Trust Radio

It’s easy to view Men I Trust as more “chill but danceable” Spotify recommendation-core. The formula is simple enough: breathy vocals over sustained synth, walking bass with jazz and/or R&B flavour, restrained rhythm section. Elevator music, if the elevator were taking you up to a Blockbusters/indie bookstore combo in the heart of Bushwick.
Except, this is not our stop. Ours is an elevator ascending the Ivory Tower, granting us view of all Fantasia. Our elevator alights the lobby of the Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, where Men I Trust and The Martini Police tradeoff headlining gigs.
On closer inspection, Men I Trust’s music is neither simple nor restrained (though, production is artfully subdued throughout). It’s not even very relaxing, only enough to lull you into a vantage from which you feel comfortable enough to see yourself—perhaps for the first time—as something small within something very large, and to realize that largeness is contained within an even larger space, and so on until the mystery swallows you.
(That is not to say Men I Trust do not have their utterly charming moments, i.e. the deliriously joyous sing-along opening of “Days go by and I still don't know how and why I still make my way without you, without you.”)
On Oncle Jazz, Men I Trust plays timewarped pocket groove music, pulling together elements of modern pop, softrock, plenty of jazz (on show in their latest instrumental single, “Alright,”), and of course assorted lofi/synth/indie/sweet dreams pop, to make something distinctive, comforting but unnameable.
Several interludes further expand the scope of the Oncle Jazz structure, from the absurd funk of “Slap Pie” to the smoking “Fiero GT," lest we forget the balletic mystery of closer “Poplar Tree," which would sound fitting over melancholy credits to a Miyazaki film.
There’s a votive quality to the loop-like nature of the band’s arrangements, cycling frames that range in form from waves of Sega ambience to controlled yet driving beats which draw equally on the electronic and organic. So much happens within the confinements of these loops, yet every moment remains isolated, carefully placed. The songs sound like secrets, but not puzzles for the sake of puzzles: there is an answer to every riddle, a worthwhile conclusion.
“We like to use a lot of repetitive movements in melodies and chord progressions to give the songs a prayer-like rhythm,” Dragos told Crack Magazine, describing the band’s desire to draw listeners deeper into their sonic narratives. The recurring musical movements are complemented by an economy of words the band often discusses:
“I will ... find the way in which I can concentrate [a thought’s] meaning, saying the most with the least words. It’s Bernstein’s idea of poetry and it’s also a necessary constraint inherent to the song genre,” Dragos told me. “Sometimes, these ideas end in Men I Trust songs.”
The band takes this minimalist approach to either ends of the spectrum, always leaving room for the listener to process and derive meaning. Compare the simplicity of “All Night” (“You wrap my feet in coloured blankets, so I stay here all night. You keep the one with many moons and stars, it’s always for my shoulders,”) to the stark poetry of “I Hope to be Around” (“I dream of my future, remote from time bounds, becoming myself without any end.”)

Oncle Jazz

The clarity with which Men I Trust operates is evidenced not only in the deliberate arrangements and concise lyricism of Oncle Jazz, but the actual conception of the record. Initially delaying the album after touring prevented the trio from finishing, then calling an audible the night before Oncle Jazz was scheduled for upload to major streaming services, there is never a sense of hurry when discussing Men I Trust. Rather, tranquil precision.
Achieving the ideal mix played a large part in the album’s prolonged incubation, with eight singles being remixed for their place among the 24 track album (several considerably so). The songs settle softly in the mix, warm pop rhythms bouncing off watery jazz. “I don’t think loud songs will give the best listening experience in years to come,” Chiriac told Billboard. I agree: Oncle Jazz invites you to absolutely bump the volume, clarifying the perfectly shaped bass tones and depth of reverb, the myriad details, without going deaf (fun fact, I did a write up on Angel Olsen’s All Mirrors for popheads, and the mixes on these two albums could not be further apart).
On “Seven,” you can hear prospective lovers whispering across a dying campfire. The rustic “Pines” paints an immense but lonely landscape (“She moves like wind by deserted pines who stand tall, unstirred,”).
After completing touring obligations, the band returned to Oncle Jazz. “When we spend too much time on the road, we miss being able to settle, to write and record without disturbance,” Dragos says over email. “Listening to a finished song, or album, is the most fun part of recording.”
Recording for Oncle Jazz took place in the green quiet of rural Quebec, which no doubt influenced the hushed mix (they’ve described the album as consisting of all “winter songs,” which isn’t a bad description by any means, but the undeniable warmth of Oncle Jazz makes one wonder what a summery MIT album sounds like). “It put us in a really different creative mood ... there’s nothing to do outside of the house except for walking and thinking about music,” Proulx said (Billboard). Indeed, the band have frequently described how their music focuses on the ways individuals play a small role within the macroscopic natural world; this sense of humble realization is all over the record. When further pressed, the band typically says songs are simply about friends. The interplay of the cosmic and intimate is one of several unifying threads that elevate Oncle Jazz from a standard LP release to a greater musical movement.
For, Oncle Jazz is its own radio station; at one point on the album, Emma clues the listener in: “You’re listening to Radio Men I Trust,” and I can’t help but responding, “Yes, I sure am,” every time. It’s a station wound in the layered textures of the Arturia Mellotron and Yamaha DX7; though, as with any decent station, there are a bevy of unexpected gifts.

My friend, you know, you had your time awhile..but I'm willing to give you mine.

Late in the Oncle Jazz sequencing comes “Something In Water” like a plaintive siren out of the mists, “In this land with no sea, hoping time forgot me, 'cause I don’t need your love, only your full weight on me.” Guitars take the forefront, a rarity on Oncle Jazz, especially the submerged acoustics and posthardcore/proggy chorus lead that surprises at 2:22.
“Dorian” consists of brilliant world building by the Zora River, recalling dreams of C.R.E.A.M. and nights spent shooting the shit with friends outside the corner store. You’ve heard the chorus melody a million times since you were young, but, no, it’s a melody only Proulx could deliver, her voice resembling bells and woodwinds more than vocals.
“Found Me” sounds like Nirvana. “Say Can You Hear” has that new wave drive.
The groove of “Air” is otherworldly. A mildly brooding verse spills into the euphoric hook: “So I thought you could come over mine...some time. Our loneliness now gone.” As with many Men I Trust songs, “Air” does not fade out, but dances away.

My friend, you have a vivid quill.

Despite the inescapably dreamy qualities of Men I Trust’s oeuvre, there’s a decidedly grounded sense to their work, a desire for clarity -- the contrast brings yet another level to the listening experience, lyricism weaving between daydreaming and existential doubt. “I Hope To Be Around” plays with Platonist-Socratic concepts (“I hope to be around the day we grasp in truth the nature of mind befriending time, in truth,”), though the breadth of lyricism and philosophical ideology (J.S. Mill to Goethe) makes it clear all members contribute to the writing process, questioning many aspects of self-significance and morality.
“For me, these contradictions make for a weird literary genre, at once positing the insignificance of humans and the god-like invulnerability of men and women of good. It’s horrifying and reassuring (the power of truth), sublime (greater than ourselves), and f---g funny,” I’m told. “It’s like watching a horror comedy. It’s a mix of emotions cancelling each other and it leaves me feeling like a blindfolded fool, puzzled with a donkey tail in his hand.” Read through a few Men I Trust songs, and at least one line will leave you handling a donkey tail of your own.
Of course, all Men I Trust lyrics are refracted through Proulx’s mesmerizing vocals. A French speaker, she has described the English language as another instrument (I challenged myself not to use the word ‘ethereal’ in describing her voice. Or ‘gossamer.’ Or ‘gauzy,’ ‘gracile,’ or even ‘as a light rain.’ So, I will not.). Her instrument contains multitudes.

Men I Trust Lives

It’s a bit mystifying to reconcile the immaculate production behind Oncle Jazz and the band’s relentless, globe-spanning touring schedule, delays or not. Men I Trust’s fully realized sound on Oncle Jazz translates beautifully to the stage. “When we spend too much time working on recordings, especially on a long double album, we look forward to getting outside and touring,” they tell me. For Men I Trust, both playing live and recording are exciting paths to becoming better musicians, a thrilling prospect for fans. “The end results of both are especially rewarding.”
Shortly before finishing this write up, I saw the band play a double header at Boston’s Royale and the Sinclair in Cambridge. Men I Trust played as a five piece, yet remained committed to the halcyon aesthetic: a t-shirt remained over the snare for the duration of the set, cymbals were chained, Emma’s vocals were so quiet you couldn’t hear her speak between songs -- even the roaring denouement of a guitar solo that closes “Seven” managed to melt faces without piercing ears.
No, Men I Trust does not make simple, chill out music. They make music difficult to fully grasp, no matter how welcoming the sound, how natural the fit.
Now, our time is at an end.
Favorite Lyrics
I don't want to feel
a world against our love.
I don't want to grow old,
a lone broken heart.
  • "Norton Commander"
I'm happy my home found me,
by which force I do not know.
I found my home and it grows by me in beauty.
  • "Found Me"
In a midway I stand where many stood
only to come home again.
Walking through these streets I know too well
but my thoughts stray away..
I dream of my future, remote from time bounds,
becoming myself
without any end.
  • "I Hope To Be Around"
My friend,
you have a vivid quill,
a gift you need to use to feel alive.
Those hands look like crooked roots.
Pour them the right stuff
and feel alive.
  • "Pierre"
Talking Points
  • Do you prefer the single or album versions of songs such as “Seven” and “I Hope To Be Around”? Please elaborate :)
  • What do you think a “summer” Men I Trust album would sound like, and more generally, what aspects of their sound would you like to see expanded on moving forward?
  • What other fully independent bands should Indieheads be listening to in 2020?
Thank you to simonthedlgger for their sprawling write-up! Tune back tomorrow as NMHipsterTrash is scheduled to talk Surf Curse's Heaven Surrounds You. In the meantime, discuss today's album and its write-up in the comments below!
submitted by indieheadsAOTY2019 to indieheads [link] [comments]

OBLIGATORY FILLER MATERIAL – Just take a hard left at Daeseong-dong…11

That being handled, I leave a wakeup call for 0430 as I want a shower and a couple shower-sunrisers before we leave. It takes me about 10 minutes to pack. I call home to let Es know what’s going on. She’s not in, so I leave a message. Same for my friends Rack and Ruin of the Agency. They’re thrilled so far with my reports.
The security forces here are absolutely going to freak if they reverse-review my phone records once we leave.
Covert? Schmovert. I’m too old for playing such games.
The next morning, after a sudsy shower and a couple of vodka-infused shower-beers; I’m in the lobby with all my kit, checked-out, and waiting on the tour leader. My passport was stamp-stamp-stampity-stamped here at the hotel, which I thought was weird, but after spending time in this here country, not all that unusual.
At 0545 on the dime, the tour bus pulls into the lot. Without a word, bellhops grab near all my kit and escort it out to the waiting bus.
After tipping each extravagantly, I fire up a huge cigar, and wander around outside, loitering by the bus. I see members of my team at the front desk, checking out. Everything’s been paid for already, they just have to sign documents that they’re not secreting hotel towels or televisions or errant nationals in their luggage.
It’s a weird country.
I see them loading box breakfasts for us as well as box lunches on the bus.
Hell, they’re actually doing ‘field trip’ correctly.
If the bus us fueled up, we can go for days at this rate. There are several coolers bearing the hotel’s brand and I sidle over to see what they’re carrying.
Case after case of iced-down beer and a couple of cases of various high-octane potables; and over there? A couple of boxes of mixers…ah, soda…pop…carbonated citrusy goodness.
“OK”, I sigh, “All is as it should be. Now the field excursion may begin.”
My teammates filter outside as does their luggage. I suggest they get out and keep what is necessary for preliminary outcrop excursions; such as a backpack or knapsack, hammer, acid bottles, field notebooks, Brunton compass, lighters, cameras, personal tobacco products, and the like in the bus. That way, we don’t have to go tearing through all the luggage at every stop.
I pull out a bundle of 100 Hubco™ large geological dual-sample bags. That’s right: ‘dual’ sample…
I distribute these to everyone on the team. I ask that they devise their own numbering system and make absolutely certain I have a copy of it when we’re done. I’ll be correlating and curating all the samples when we get back to the world.
I ask that a cooler of drinks are left on board the bus, rather than in the hold. It’s humid, sticky, and muggy today. We must expend valiant effort in remaining hydrated and this will help.
Luckily, the bus has on-board lavatory facilities.
We are seated on the bus, my 10 collective team members, myself, our 4 ‘guides’, ‘Yuk’, ‘No’, ‘Man’, and ‘Kong’; our driver, relief driver, one incredibly shy national geologist, Myung-Dae Soo, and four of the shiny suit clan.
The hotel wheels out a large cart laden with pastries and a huge coffee urn. A bit of a “Bon Voyage” from the casino and bar crowd, as they put this together for us when they heard we were leaving.
“Hey. That’s really nice of them.” Dax notes.
Dax handed over our raw “elevator waiting” funds as we didn’t have time to run it through the casino-machine before we left. We donated over 75,000 won to our friends at the bar, casino, and massage parlor. The ones delivering our going away present assured us it would be divided equitably.
“It best be”, I laughed, “You never know when one of us might be back!”
There was a collective horrified look on their faces for the merest moments. Then they all laughed and said that they hoped we would return someday soon.
“Nice folks”, I thought, “Stupid as shit country, but nice folks.”
We had all separately left tips for the room maids, bellmen, and matrons back before we checked-out.
There was a flurry of handshaking and goodbyes. Not a bad hotel experience here in the so-called land of Best Korea.
Serious dark coffee was passed out amongst the riders, but Ivan, myself, and Dax were already giving one of my emergency flasks a workout.
Ivan smiled and said: “We drink our coffee the Russian way. That is to say we had vodka before it and vodka afterward. HA!”
Ivan and I are cut from the same bolt.
Faux-doughnuts, pseudo-bear claws and fake-long johns all distributed; the bus is fired up, and rumbling. We are exhorted to watch our drinks as we pull away from the hotel and into the wilds of Northern Korea.
I’m humming away:

On the road again -Just can't wait to get on the road again,
The life I love is bashing rocks in the field with my friends.
And I can't wait to get on the road again
On the road again.
Goin' places that we've never been,
Seein' things that we may never see again…
“Rock?”, Dax inquires.
“Yes?” I reply.
“Do please shut up.”
“Music hater”, I muse and comply.
We’re rolling down the highway, as it were, headed generally north. We all have cameras of one kind or another; and rather than relieve us of them, they quietly and without much fuss, slowly darken the windows.
They claim it’s to keep the sun out and temperatures down, but just before things go all black, we’re seeing sights and scenes of the true North Korea. They’re trying to keep us from seeing that en route to the outcrops.
This new bus has some sort of electronic tint-control gizmo for the windows. However, if one has a pair of polarizing sunglasses, as all good field geologists do, you see right past that and can view the passing scenery unencumbered.
I return from a quick beer-recycling loo trip and am amused to see 10 Western scientists, sitting in a blacked-out bus, all wearing polarizing sunglasses.
It was just the surreal note this trip needed as we left the confines of the capital city.
We traveled north, and the empties pile began to grow. We had a few trash bags we had liberated from the hotel, but the shiny suits were very insistent that every empty can, bottle, and bag, yes they had beer in bags…had to be repatriated to a box in the far back of the bus.
Evidently, they either were paid a bounty on each container or were accountable for each vessel. They were soon to realize just the capacity for drink that a group of 11 seasoned very Senior Field Geologists, and one stowaway geologist-in-training can amass.
As we ply our way northward, we see the agricultural side of North Korea. The contrast between rural areas and the capital was striking. There were miles of rice paddies being harvested by people with sickles in their hands. And no cars on the highway. It was most destabilizing for this Westerner.
I think we saw a maximum of three tractors, as most of the work was done with ox power, there was very little evidence of rural electrification. Oh, hold on. We saw many more tractors, I should correct that: we saw three running and not rusted into oblivion tractors.
The farmers we see are using equipment that is quite literally medieval - single-share plows pulled by large, cranky bovines; sweeping sickles to bring in the harvest, and twin-engine, bilateral, botanical-fired ox-carts to transport it. It’s hard to believe that this third-world level of poverty exists in the same country that’s capable of building rockets, nuclear weapons, and tall, well-appointed hotels.
But when we stop at a motorway service station for fuel - a bizarre alien spaceship-like building squatting over the empty carriageways - we do encounter a jangmadang, or semi-official market. Here they are selling cans of knock-off Vietnamese Red Bull and Malaysian-made King Cobra™ Cola.
It reminds me of Russia right after the wall fell. Off the Trans-Siberian Railway in Krasnoyarsk, the Gateway to Eastern Siberia. You can buy Chinese hams, Chinese sodas, Chinese knock-off liquor, and those bloody delicious little bullets of Vitamin-C, Chinese mandarins.
Here, it’s similar. You can get most anything you desire, except it isn’t of Korean manufacture. That stuff is even too shitty to pawn off on tourists.
Instead, it’s knock-off Malaysian, Chinese, or Indonesian beer, wine, or soft drinks.
“Tiger-brand energy drink. Now with 40% more real tiger.” Here? I believe them.
Vodka from everywhere not known for its vodka distilling prowess. Rural hotel shops sell nastily stale crisps, gummy gummies, filling-ripping ‘chewy’ taffy or caramel, and biscuits with a severely limited choice. Rural hotels do not have full electricity so beer is warm and often tossed on the table, waiting for tourists to arrive - as is the food. We were warned to be prepared for cold rice, cold fish, cold potato – and plenty of kimchi and tofu.
Back on the road again, we’re passing small burgs that are not on any of our maps; even the ones we traded for back in the hotel that are specially marked: “For Internal Use ONLY!”.
They were amazingly the same. Clean. Bright. Uncluttered. And attended by cadres of prim, uniform-clad, though non-military people. They were all doing a day’s work keeping everything neat and clean.
There were no cars, trucks, forklifts…only rickshaws and ox-carts. However every one of these ‘towns’ were identical, and exactly, as Ivan pointed out, ‘X’ number of minutes apart.
“Watch! Is so!”, Ivan said. We passed one of these villages, and exactly 3 minutes later, an exact copy. Three minutes later? Another one. 3 more minutes? Xerox-city.
“What the fuck?” Dax asked.
“Potemkin village.” Comrade Dr. Academician Ivan replied.
A Potemkin village is any construction, literal or figurative, whose sole purpose is to provide an external façade to a country which is faring poorly. It is for making people believe that the country is faring better, although statistics and data would suggest otherwise.
“Russia pioneered the process,” Ivan noted with no small amount of pride. “During Cold War with West, entire cities were built, moved, raised, and razed. Ever hear of Krasnoyarsk-25? Atomic Research City? Supposed place of weapons study and manufacture. Huge ‘accident’. Entire city demolished, total populace relocated supposedly, after massive nuclear calamity.”
“Is that true? Cliff asks.
“No. Not at all.” Ivan smiles, “Deliberate misinformation. At least for K-25. It was diversion for actual towns where accidents; nuclear, biological, or worse, had happened. West so concerned about K-25 because it was big, near big capital city of Krasnoyarsk and suitably located out in the taiga. Easy to spot, easy to watch. Kept Western satellites busy while real towns of I-33, U-10, and AR-13 out in the forest were quietly demolished and people relocated or mass buried after some horrible, horrible accidents...”
“You think it’s the same here?” I asked Ivan.
“No, Dr. Rock”, Ivan smiled, and helped himself to my freshly constructed, but untouched, Yorshch, “This is all fake and bluster. Make West think everything is all A-OK, is that right idiom?”
“Yep.” I reply, “Precisely.”
“Make West believe all is OK and green”, as he winks at me, “And bustling and growing. Cover up what is real case here. We all see it and we see right through. Shoddy even for Asians.”
We all had to snicker and smirk as the shiny suit squad, who sat up at the front of the bus, and were not supposed to be listening; reacted like every cell in their bodies were just hit with a drop of pure lemon juice.
“Comrade Dr. Academician. Decorum, please.” I snickered.
“Oh, fuck them!”, Ivan replied, “I am old Russian. They try and pull burlap over my eyes? St. Petersburg? Moscow? Krasnoyarsk.? I’ve been there, seen them. They think this display of tawdriness…Even goofy American and Canadian can see the fakes they are. Britisher? I’m not so sure…”
“Damn, Doctor., I said to Ivan, “You’re just making friends all over the planet today.”
We all knew it was in jest; but the shiny suit squad certainly had their feathers ruffled and either didn’t care or wanted us to know we were under their observation.
“Fuck them twice”, Ivan said, “Ask them for bottle opener. I’m too lazy to search for my field jackknife.”
I hand him my pocket Leatherman and he pries the top of another bottle of ‘Budveiser’ beer.
“They can’t even make fake the name correctly”, he smirks and drains the bottle.
‘Town’ after ‘town’ and even that parade gets uninteresting. We’re headed north and finally come to a crossroads.
The bus driver, who must be a regular paranoid-maniac because he actually stopped to look for oncoming traffic, which we have seen precisely none since leaving the capital city, made a hard right. We’re heading back and up into the hills, leaving the bright lights of the big city far behind.
After an hour or so of driving, we pull off to the left-hand side of the road.
“Rock, Ivan, Cliff…holy shit, look at this!” Dax was uncharacteristically excited.
It was an open field that leads to a series of low outcrops of polychromatic, obviously sedimentary rocks. Magentas, greens, purples, rust-reds, browns, blacks, olive greens…holy shit. A real sedimentary pile.
We filed out of the bus with our field gear. The shiny suit squad started in with a bullhorn.
“You will wait for tour guides!”
“You will listen to group leaders!”
“You will not stray from the designated paths set up…”
No one heard them as the group of 11 remaining Western geoscientists were already across the highway and hieing for the exposures like outcrop-seeking multiple-warhead re-entry vehicles.
“You must wait!” we heard from exasperated voices back at the bus. “You must stop!”
“You must piss off!” Cliff said, “This is what we’ve been waiting over two weeks to see!”
“They are very angry with us”, Myung-dae the young Korean geologist said. “I find that just too bad.”
“And you are?” I asked.
Myung-dae Soo, the young Korean geologist, introduced himself.
“Well”, I said, “Welcome aboard. I’m Dr. Rock.”
“They are very, very angry”, he repeats.
“So? Are you tagging along to give them internal reports?” I asked.
“No, Doctor”, he replied, “I too am a geologist. I want to get away from those assholes and see some real rocks.”
“Who are you with?” I ask, “What group?”
“I am 5th-year student at Pyongyang College. I am not officially here. We were told in class that you were coming. I decided to see if I could join you. This morning, I was standing by bus and they thought I was hotel worker or orderly. I was given cooler full of beer and told to find place for it on the bus. I did and after that, just stayed in the back. I am stowaway. I am ashamed, but I had to see for myself. But, I like Western field trips so far!”
“No shit? Well, then”, I said, “Double welcome aboard. None of this ‘I am ashamed’ shit. You’re a geologist, but you haven’t even worked through your first field-evening get-together with us. But this is no pleasure cruise. It’s real work, real geology, real serious science shit. You savvy?”
“Yes, sir, Doctor Rocknocker from Sultanate in the Middle East.” Myung-dae smiled.
“And you fucking stay close to me”, I smirked.
I fired a couple of BLAAATS! from my portable air horn.
“Field Meeting! Field Meeting! Assholes & Elbows!” I called aloud.
Everyone gathered within earshot.
“OK, guys, here’s the deal. We do not know how long we’ve got here. So, let’s split up into teams. Geophysicists, go do your structural thing. Stratigraphers? Field relations. Geologists? Let’s go talk to some ronery-rooking-rocks. No offense, Mr. Myung.”
Myung-dae was laughing up a storm. He got that reference. He later told us all around the campfire he thought ‘Team America’ was a “fucking hilarious movie.”
Oh, we are going to be a real bad influence on this poor kid.
The groups spontaneously broke up into 4 or 5 sub-groups. They headed for areas they thought were important and they were photographing, measuring, pounding on rocks, and arguing within minutes.
“No, you idiot! It’s continental. Look at those adhesion ripples.”
“The fuck you know. It’s only a little low-level eggbeater tectonics. Where the fuck would you get continental collision-size energy around here?”
“Oh, the fuck you say. It’s non-marine. Those are mud cracks. Look at the sandy aeolian infill, fer chrissake.”
Formal? Proper? Detached Doctors of Geology?
Not when you’re in the field. It all goes out the window when different opinions collide like subducting plates.
“The music of my people!” I said to Morse.
“I thought that was the ‘Safety Dance’?” he chided.
“We’re a big family. We can have more than one.” I snickered.
We’re wandering around the site, with individual purpose.
We are looking for or looking at items of interest.
We’re hacking at the outcrops.
We’re all looking at…things.
It’s hard to describe. Get a load of geologists or geology students out of the office, lab, or classroom; stick them out on a bare expanse of heavily weathered rock and it’s simply…numinous.
We’re rebuilding worlds here.
This rock says this.
This rock says that.
And you’re not fluent in that dialect. Here, let me interpret for you…
We’re at each other’s throats, in the academic-metaphorical sense. Tempers have been known to run hot. There has been the occasional bloody nose or rocks sailing down an outcrop without the obligate “HEADACHE!” call. Hammers and Marsh Picks have ended up swimming without the owner’s knowledge.
But once we’re back; settled in the hotel room, tavern, or around the campfire, we’re all a Band of Brothers again. It’s an odd thing to watch; as if you’re not of the clan, you’d need an interpreter. It defies all boundaries: political, sexual, educational, geographical, linguistic, social, et cetera.
We’re all geologists first. We share the common scientific bond of Geology.
That’s why Geology is the First Science.
Plus we tend to drink a serious fucking whole bloody awful lot.
We’ve all been on that ‘crawlin’ home puker’.
We’ve also been to the ends of the earth: the deepest depths, the highest heights, we deal with the greatest pressures, the hottest temperatures; we’ve been to the mountain, we’ve seen the elephant, and we’ve held a bear’s nose to dogshit.
We wear the scars attained in our travels like badges of honor.
We’re God-Damned Scientists.
Back off, man. Geologist comin’ through.
Anyways, I’m looking at the bedding-plane boundaries between the purple unit and the underlying olive-green unit. The upper unit it looks, to me, continental in origin. Fluvial, perhaps. The lower unit is much finer-grained. Marine mudstone, perhaps? But what age?
The cadged Korean Geological maps are worse than useless. They never would go down to the outcrop scale. Consulting them, they don’t even note these exposures in a field sense.
Myung-dae, who is working about 35 meters down-section from me calls out, “Doctors! Sirs! Look here! I’ve found something!”
We all wander over as he is hacking away at the dusty, eroded rock. He stands and dusts off his find.
It’s a very large, nearly 1-meter diameter, coiled fossil cephalopod.
I wander over for a closer look. Dax, Cliff, Morse, and Ivan do as well.
“Blimey! Will you look at that? Outstanding, Mr. Myung!” Cliff says.
“Well, that confirms it. This layer, at least, is marine. Look at that suture pattern”, I say, dusting off an unweathered bit.
“Look at the radius of coiling.”, Cliff joins in.
We’re slowly wresting information out of this silent witness.
“Ornamentation?”, Dr. Ivan asks. “Knobs, bosses, and excrutions?” Oh, yes.”
In unison, we declare: “Hyphoplites!”
Morse adds, “And therefore…these rocks are middle Cretaceous. Marine. Not bad…”
“Need to get some samples for geochemical analysis. Dig deep, gentlemen, we need unweathered samples for TOC (Total Organic Carbon) content.”, Dr. Erlen Meyer notes.
With that, we have a relative age of the rock, a good idea of its depositional environment, and therefore extent, ideas of field relationships, and an indication of some of its fauna.
Could it be source rock worthy?
Samples? Best get diggin’, Beaumont.
That unit is right smack in the middle of this pile of rocks. Dax and I will work up-section and Ivan and Cliff will work down-section. We’re going to see what lies above, what lies below, what trends we can discern, and develop an idea of what happened here some 100 million years ago.
This is what happens when you get geologists out in the field with the proper amounts of field gear, outcrops, and alcohol.
Overall, the deeper down-section, and therefore, earlier in geological time you go, the more marine the rocks are. Conversely, the higher you go in the column, i.e., up-section, into younger rocks, the more continental it appears.
We find fragments of marine fish fossils, sea-crocodile scutes and teeth, heaps of mosasaur coprolites, i.e., fossil shit piles, and other indications that the lower, older rocks are Lower Cretaceous ocean basin-fill.
But up higher; we find mud cracks, rain prints, land turtle shells, land-snails (Bellerophontid gastropods), and what may actually be a fossil feather. All indications of a more continental, i.e., fluvial (river), floodplain, lacustrine (lake), and paludal (swamp) deposition.
That’s my particular bailiwick.
I’m ‘elephant walking’ along the upper outcrops looking for fossils. You basically bend over at the waist and sweep from left to right as you take exaggerated step after step, scanning the ground looking for…well…it takes years, but once you see it, you never forget it.
“Fossil sign”.
A disjunct endemism. Something not in situ. Something out of place. A bit of a different, out of context color. Out of context texture. Out of context size. Out of context context.
Something that looks like it shouldn’t ought to be there.
I’m picking up 1 cm. square hunks of what look like an ordinary rock. I taste them. Well, I stick them to my tongue. If it liquefies and runs away, it’s ordinary mudstone, shale, or the like.
If it sticks…well, it might just be fossil bone.
“Damn right, Rock”, Cliff says from behind me, “Fucking North Korea tastes terrible.”
“Still, it’s the best way I know to…” I paused.
“Got something?” Cliff asked.
“Look here.” I said, “Anthill. Big, nasty buggers. Look around the edges. Pieces of flat, cream-colored rock on this gaudy purple stuff. Tongue test? They stick like cockleburs. Let’s look upslope, see if there’s a drainage…”
There it was, a nice little drainage incised about 1.5 meters deep into the nearly horizontal rocks we were walking on.
“Any float?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Cliff said.
We followed the weak, little drainage that was cut into the outcrop, up another couple of meters.
There were very scrappy, very small, very scattered pieces of that same cream-colored rock. Some were ornamented with a scroll-work or some sort of striations. Most un-geological. More biological. We followed the trail, up here, around here, over there.
Cliff noticed it first, a soccer-ball sized lump of completely out-of-place crème-colored ‘rock’ working its way out by gradual erosion of the variegated pastels of the continental rocks upon which we were treading.
I got there first and began to clear the area with my Estwing.
“Careful. Careful”, Cliff admonished.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Mind your Mincies. [Mince pies = eyes]”, as I’m swinging away at the reluctant, reticent, rocks.
The excavation grew, slowly. From the rounded dome, we could see small sutures that had developed…
Then condyles, fenestrae, then more ‘bone’. Then a jaw, teeth, vertebrae…
“HOLY DOUBLE-DAMN SHIT!” I tootled my air horn. We needed the group to see this.
It was a skull. A dinosaur skull. A small, non-avian dinosaur skull.
Everyone has crowded around and looked at the small quarry we had just built.
“Whatcha got, Rock? Cliff?” Joon asked.
“Fuck me, but I think we’ve got us a dinosaur skull,” I said.
Professor Doctor Academician Ivan walked over and cleared the area.
As Professor Emeritus, he had pole position priority.
“I agree.” is all he said.
I cleared the area and let others take a whack at opening up the quarry.
We may have been low on power tools, but we had a surfeit of opinions.
“OK,” I said, “Let’s look at the facts…”
  1. Age? Cretaceous. Probably lower to lower-middle Cretaceous.
  2. Continental deposits. That’s very fine sand we’re hacking away. Fluvial, without a doubt. Or, possibly aeolian; there’s no such thing as a geological certainty. Dunes? Ephemeral creeks? Low floodplain? Geo-talk… .
  3. Small size. Potentially a juvenile?
  4. Nope. Not a juvie. Sutures are closed, fused. This is, well was, an adult; perhaps a subadult, given its size.
  5. In situ? In place? Or washed in?
Hard to tell when all you’ve exposed is half the critter’s brain box.
“Look at that!” Myung-dae exclaimed, “Squamosal bones and the inner parietals…temporal fenestrae. It had a frill; a small one.”
“OK,”, I said, looking closely at the exposed scrappy remains, “Fucking-A Bubba. Nailed it.” I said, giving him the thumbs up.
“Ceratopsian. Look at those greens-grinder molars. There’s some small osteoderms on the skull; knobby old bastard. Early critter.” I continued.
Others looked around and confirmed my observations.
“Reminds me of Protoceratops from when I was back in Mongolia,” I said.
Dax chimed in with, “Looks something like Psittacosaurus from back in the Cretaceous Belly River of Canada.”
Drs. Ivan and Morse agree. “Most assuredly. It is definitely proto-ceratopsian. Young adult, as Dr. Rock notes by the cranial sutures. Do they have a record of proto-ceratopsians here?”
Myung-dae replies, “I have read reports of Korean proto-ceratopsian found in South Korea. Not long ago, 2019, it is called…ah… Auroraceratops. It is a genus of bipedal basal neo-ceratopsian dinosaur.”
“Bipedal?” I query. “Well, there’s a fine how do you do. All the proto-ceratopsians I’ve known were obligate quadrupeds.”
“Well”, Ivan, Dax, Cliff, and Morse agree, “That should give the shiny suit squad something to report. That’ll keep them the hell out of our hair for a while.”
We photograph each step as we excavate the critter. It’s more or less in situ, buried where it fell. Probably killed by a sand slip off a dune, or a river sandbar slip and burial. It’s not complete, but we do have the skull and a good portion of the post-cranial elements to about just before the pelvis. A good pectoral girdle, skull, jaw, frill, forelimbs, forefeet…easily half-a cute little herbivorous dinosaur. About the size of a smallish Highland Coo or large Great Dane.
We flag it with the team particulars, it’s GPS position, and carefully rebury the animal. We don’t have any of the equipment nor time to excavate it properly, but we can conserve it. Of course, we’ll be informing the proper authorities of our discovery.
I have an absolutely ancient Polaroid instant camera. Before re-internment, I take several pictures of our “Koreasaurus”, as we’ve dubbed the animal, with items for scale; like a hammer, cigar, and oddly enough, a photographic scale. Then I get a photo of the whole crew standing around, drinking warm beers from their individual day packs, smiling about the find ‘they‘ made.
We hear the melodious tootle of the bus’s horns. We make sure to pack out all our trash and wander back to our terrestrial transport.
“You were gone too long!” the chief shiny suited character goes all ballistic on me.
“Watch yourself, Herr Mac.”, I calmly said, “You’re going to burn your nose on my cigar.”
“You left without your handlers…err…guides!” he fumed.
“Hey, Scooter. Cool out. We’re geologists. We never get lost.” I said.
It sometimes just takes us longer to get back than it took us to leave…
“Your impertinence will be reported.” He smoldered.
“Report this, Mother Chuckler”, I observed and held out the pictures of our newly discovered Koreasaurus.
“Show those photos to your handlers,” I said in a mocking tone. “We found a brand new species of God-damned dinosaur for you geezers. It took us less than two hours. You can spin it that it’s a new, never-before-seen species of very specialized dinosaur found right here in beautiful Korea del Norte. Be quite the scientific coup, don’t you think? Trust us. We won’t say anything.”
He immediately shut up and went into conference with the rest of the shiny suit squad.
“Doctor”, one of the clan covert asked, “This is a new dinosaur?”
I had a thunderbolt of an idea.
“Oh! Yes, it is. I’d stake my reputation on it. You’ve had no concerted search here for the beasts and well, with the normalizing of relations between your country and the world, it allowed your specialists to perform real science. In fact, on the bus is the young North Korean geoscientist who made the discovery.” I said. “Give me a minute. I’ll go and get him. I think he was off taking a shi…ah, using the lavatory. Just give me a minute.”
I did have an idea. A wonderful idea. A wonderfully evil idea.
Back on the bus, I ordered the doors closed.
“Gentlemen! Ears and eyes! Please.” I said loudly.
“The shiny suits have their knickers all a-twist because we don’t want to listen to them; the assholes. Fuck that. I’ve got an idea. Let’s make our young acolyte here, Mr. Myung-dae Soo, a national hero. He would probably get his ass in a crack for sneaking on board the Western bus today the way he did. Well, double fuck that. Let’s all say he found the dinosaur. Let him take the glory for the homeland. No one else will ever need to know.” I said smiling.
“Fuck Yeah! You bet! Замечательное! Ihmeellisiä! Maravilhoso! Geweldig!”
Good to know we’re all on the same page. Geologists. You can always count on them…
“Mr. Myung-dae Soo? Front and center. Time to go and become ‘Hero of Best Korea’.” I smiled.
He was absolutely terrified.
“Doctor…I …don't…wait…no…” he stammered.
Cliff, Dax, Ivan, and I trotted him out to confront the shiny suit squad.
“Don’t worry, Myung. We’ve got your back. Trust us.” I said in a low conspiratorial tone.
The shiny suit squad turned as one and gave Mr. Myung the Stink Eye treatment.
“Here you go. The man of the hour. Mr. Myung-Dae Soo, young geologist and up and coming paleontologist.” I say loudly and with the utmost honor.
They look at him and the Korean erupts in rapid-fire staccato bursts.
Cliff just wanders in and interjects, “Yes. Righto. Top form. Found the float. Tracked down that dino like he was on safari. Highest marks. Good man!”
Dax adds more fuel to the fire. “Like he knew where to go, knew where to look. He’s a natural.”
Dr. Academician Ivan blustered forth: “Excellent scholar. Excellent field man. Banner geologist.”
I couldn’t have added more. The shiny suit squad was gobsmacked.
I asked Myung-dae what they were saying.
“They were talking about reprisals. Reporting to authorities. Then, they stopped. You have them completely confounded.” He said.
“How so?” I asked, quietly.
“Between an international incident where we don’t listen to our handlers and this potential important scientific discovery.” Mr. Myung-dae reported, trying hard to parse the evolving situation.
“Yes”, I added to Ivan’s bluster.
To the shiny suits: “I’ve worked as visiting Dinosaurian Vertebrate Paleontology Curator at all the major American museums. This is a find quite unlike anything known. It is a watershed discovery. It will help unravel the evolution and distribution of the clan Dinosauria for the whole Korean Peninsula. Perhaps, even with international impact on the recent finds in China.”
I laid it on with a trowel.
I hit all the buzzwords.
“Yes. Yes, perhaps.”, the head shiny-suiter said. “I will report this bit of very good news to the proper authorities. Myung-dae, with us. We require more information.”
“Ah, we’d prefer him to ride in back with us if you don’t mind. Scientific courtesy, old man. He needs to be classically de-interviewed after such a find.” I insisted, making certain I stand as tall, wide, and menacing as possible while smiling like a damned Cheshire cat, one smoking a very large cigar.
“Very well. We are not far from our evening stop. We can talk later.” He agreed.
We all moseyed, laughing silently, back to the bus; literally supporting our young hero Mr. Myung-dae as he seemed to have gone all wobbly of late.
Myung-dae was ashen-white. He looked like he had just given birth to a basketball. He was visibly shaking.
We get on the bus and I whip up a stout Yorshch for the young hero of the hour.
“Here! This is for you. If you’re going to be a world-class geologist, you’d damn sure better start acting like one.” I smile broadly.
There were hoots, cheers, and cat-calls.
Beers were popped, bottles uncorked; cigars, cigarettes, and pipes lit.
“Damn Skippy!” some anonymous reveler added.
Myung-dae slurped a good half the drink. I offered him a cigar. He stopped shaking enough to accept the novel offer.
Remember “crawlin’ home puker”? He’s taken his first step into a larger world.
OK, just to recap. Here are the dramatis personae left on the bus…
Bus driver (Kim) and his relief (Won).
My team and I. That’s 11 Western geoscientists: Morse, Cliff, Volna, Ack, Viv, Graco, Erlen, Dr. Academician Ivan, Joon, Dax, and myself.
Then there are our guides: Yuk, No, Man, and Kong.
Our stowaway hero geologist-in-training: Myung-dae Soo, aka, “Mung”.
And the four members of the shiny suit clan: Pak, Mak, Tak, and Jak. At least, that’s the names we used when we addressed them.
The bus was rumbling down the deserted highway. We were headed more or less due east, passing the occasional Potemkin Village. They knew we cracked their code long ago, so they didn’t bother with darkening the windows any longer.
We are passing a series of highway road cut outcrops. We’re only going approximately 35 or 40 miles per hour. Suddenly, Morse jumps out of his seat and runs up to the driver.
“STOP! STOP! Back up! We almost missed it!” he barks in heavily Russian inflected English.
The driver, shaken to the core, just slams on the brakes. The bus grinds to a stop. Good thing there’s no traffic out here.
Or anywhere else, for that matter.
Jak of the suit clan jumps up and asks “What is the problem?”
“How could you miss that?” Morse shouts. “Huge fault. Mineralization. I saw that from a glimpse. We must return to investigate.”
“Is not possible. We have appointment at the hotel.” Jak replies.
“Fuck that!”, Morse shouts. I guess he’s just really into faults…
I wander up and try to defuse the situation.
“OK, guys, cool out. Let’s be reasonable. Do it our way. Go back to that road cut. We spend a half-hour there then we go on to the hotel. The hotel will still be there when we arrive, won’t it? Even if we’re a bit late?” I ask.
Jak looks to Pak, who converses with Mak and Tak. They know they’re outgunned.
The driver shifts the bus into reverse and we back down the luckily deserted highway over a mile to the outcrop in question.
We had to admit, it was a mother beautiful normal fault. In perfect, textbook cross-section.
Morse and Joon were on it like white on rice; given the mineralization along the fault plane. All sorts of implications for the thermal and geological history of the area. But with just one exposure like this, more or less just a real interesting geo-oddity.
We spent precisely 30 minutes at the exposure, and when our handlers requested we re-board and head to the motel, we complied like nice, normal sort of folks.
I believe the appropriate maxim here is: “Lull them into a false sense of security…”
Once more down the road we travel. Beers popped, bottles uncorked; you know, the usual.
Forty-five minutes later, we pull into, I kid you not, a replica US of A 1950s Motor-Inn.
“Mr. Myung”, I ask, “What the hell is this?”
To be continued…
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CreateYoureReality NFL Analysis and Picks Week 11 (Sunday Games)

CreateYoureReality NFL Analysis and Picks Week 11 (Sunday Games)
Thursday Night Recap
Singles: 2-2 (-0.02u) Soooo close! Personally I think the OBJ conspiracy was real. He had 10 targets (the most) and almost scored the first TD on their first drive. Not only did his TD get reviewed and overturned but soon after, Juju was taken out of the game. On to the next one!
Parlay: 0-0 (0u) None
BBDLS: 0-0 (0u) Nothing of note here. We put in a free bet and it is still live, but there are much harder games to clear on this one. Lets ride the wave!
SBBDLS: 0-0 (0u) None
Teasers: 0-0 (0u) None

Sunday Games

Dallas @ Detroit (-7): This weeks games opens up with a 1pm slate of games that are dooseys. Almost every one of these games feels like the favorite should win but they all have a reasonable percentage of underdog upsets. With Stafford playing the algo predicts this one 27-24 Dallas. But with no Stafford this game is going to rely on the Lions D and their backup QB. The Lions run d allows 4.6 ypc (22nd) and 130 ypg (26th). While their pass D averages giving up 272 ypg (27th) and a 100 passer rating (23rd). The Cowboys passing offense is 3rd in ypg, 4th in ypc, and 1st in ypa 1st. Last week Zeek had a horrible game vs min going 20 rushes for only 47 yards at 2.4 ypc... but he is still top 10 in rush yards with 78 per game. Some interesting stats to go with the Dallas run game:
  • Dallas has just five losses since Ezekiel Elliott entered the NFL three years ago in games in which Zeke rushes for at least 100 yards. The Cowboys are 4-1 this year when the former Ohio State star reaches triple-digits on the ground.
  • The Cowboys have covered 10 of their past 14 games after totaling fewer than 90 yards rushing in their previous game.
As for important injuries: Just three teams have allowed more passes of 20-plus yards this season than the Lions. Darius Slay should draw the assignment on Cooper, but the Lions are severely short-handed at safety with Tracy Walker out and Will Harris questionable with a groin injury. Backup right tackle Tyrell Crosby will be starting for the Lions and they may be without one of their best run defenders, Da’Shawn Han. In terms of props the model is looking at JD Mckissic receptions. Last game with Driskle starting he had 7 targets and 6 receptions. It appears Driskle likes to check down to him for safety.

New Orleans at Tampa Bay (+5): Just as the Dallas game, this game looks like it should be a win for the favorite just based upon the offense for the favorite vs the defense of the dog. However, there are definitely scenarios that have Tampa Bay coming away with an upset. The algo has this one as NO -2. Curiously it look-ahead around -7 and has moved down to settle in around 5. This is probably due to the fact the Saints were embarrassed last week by the Falcons. They came out of the bye with 0 energy and the Falcons took advantage. TB was able to pull through last week despite losing the turnover battle and trailing in the fourth. Tampa Bay's ability to protect the ball on offense and force a turnover on defense will be the key for a victory. "They’re 2-12 in games with 0 takeaways. When they force a takeaway, they’re 22-27. When they record exactly one takeaway, they’re 5-16. When they record exactly two, they’re 5-10. Three, as it turns out, is the magic number. When they record at least three, they’re 12-1. Unfortunately for Tampa Bay, New Orleans almost never commits three turnovers in a game. In fact, the Saints haven’t done so since 2017, and they haven’t committed two in any game this season." Uncharacteristically, Brees was sacked 6 times last week. Now he is going against Shaquile Barret this week who has 11.5 sacks (1st). The Saints do have Kamara back, but the TB rush D is tops allowing only 78 ypg (1st) and 3.4 ypc (3rd). Brees will likely look to the air as Thomas is on fire, averaging over 100 ypg, and the Tampa Bay pass D ranks bottom of the league giving up an average 299 ypg (league worst) and an average 100 passer rating (24th). In terms of injuries, almost everyone is a go. The only notable injury is Saints Marshon Lattimore. He has been ruled out and this should really add to the TB abuse of the deep ball. The algo does favor the Saints to win, but I don't think I can lay the points on this one.
Fun Fact: NFC South foes Tampa Bay and New Orleans have split their annual series every season since Jameis Winston entered the NFL. NO won the first meeting.

Atlanta at Carolina (-5): My algo has this coming out at Carolina -7. I understand the movement as Atlanta got a huge upset last Sunday and Carolina lost by 2 inches. Before we jump into the stats, I think the most important information for this game is Carolina’s starting tackles, Dennis Daley and Greg Little are both questionable for the game. If they play, I see Kyle Allen having time to throw, CMC having holes to run through, and little resistance from an ATL secondary that ranks near the bottom in everything. However, if those tackles are out, ATL may be able to repeat last weeks performance (6 sacks and 11 QB hits) and give themselves opportunity at another big divisional upset. Other injuries to note: The Falcons will be without tight end Austin Hooper, their receptions (56) and receiving touchdown (six) leader who is out with an MCL sprain. The Panthers will be without defensive back Ross Cockrell (quad), who has played a big role in a variety of positions in the secondary. But, for the Panthers, cornerback James Bradberry back. I am leaning towards Carolina here and while the focus will be on CMC, I think the edge can be found with the WR's in this one.

Jacksonville at Indianapolis (-2.5): Whoa. Two completely different QBs than the previous week for both teams. It looks as if Brissett is back for the Colts, and after 9 weeks with no BDN, Nick Foals returns. My algo has this game at 22-22 with some HFA to be added in for Indy. This looks like what Vegas got too because they made the spread -3 (hfa on a pk) and the total around 44. Looks like they don't know how to handle the QB change and decided to let the market dictate the price. The Jags are coming off a bye and see the return of wide receiver Dede Westbrook (neck), cornerback D.J. Hayden (neck) and linebacker Quincy Williams (hamstring). Both teams have rush defenses that rank in the bottom of the league, but on the flip side, both teams have rushing offenses that are pretty good. With Jax having the clear edge here. A key stat to note for the Jax rush defense is they are 4-0 when holding opponents under 100 yards rushing...but they are 0-5 when they dont. Without TY Hilton again this week to help stretch the field, I feel like JAX will be able to stack the box and keep the rush yards for IND to a minimum.

Denver at Minnesota (-10): This is another game where I dont think Vegas knows how to cap it. My algo came out with 15-25 MIN. They Vegas spread is -10 with a total of 40. It seems they know the public will like MIN just seeing them come off a win on prime time. As you have probably guessed, my gut leans DEN as I took them on Thursday in my BBDLS parlay. Let's look into the game to see what else is going on. First, we see Denver coming off a bye. Yet another QB named with the last name Allen hopped into the NFL, replacing the injured Joe Flacco and he was 12-of-20 passing for 193 yards and two touchdowns while beating the Cleveland Browns in his first career start. Then, he went into a bye week, giving him double time to get in sync with the plays and the receivers. You know what, there are stats that say the Vikings offense is legit, and the Broncos D is legit. They both have decent running games and run defenses. I'd say the key here is if Min can pressure the young QB. If they can...its a wrap. If they can't? I see Denver with an easy cover and possibly an upset.
NY Jets at Washington (-2.5) This is a curious coin flip of two bottom of the barrel teams this year. The Jets are coming of a win and the Redskins are coming off a bye. This feels like an under game. My algo has this at 20-20 but there is no adjustment for Haskins yet. He has had an extra week to prepare, but the Redskins tend to rely on AP to generate some running game. He will be going against a Jets run D that is L.E.G.I.T. giving up only 3ypc (best in the league) and 82 ypg (2nd). The Redskins run game will an added boost in Guice who will be returning. Honestly, all the numbers lean Jets favor. However... everywhere I look 70-75% of the bets are on the Jets...and the number keeps pushing in their favor. This is usually a big red flag to take the opposite of the majority!

Buffalo at Miami (+6.5): My algo has this 22-20 Buffalo. This is an interesting rematch of a divisional battle. This time though Frank Gore will be returning home to battle his old team in front of his family. Also Jordan Phillips, Bills defensive tackle is returning to where he was originally drafted. He is having a monster year, so watch out! Looking at the Bills offense, it has been pretty mediocre. However, it will be facing a Dolphins defense that ranks bottom in almost everything. ( 31st in points allowed, 29th in total yards, and 30th in sacks per attempt ) Im sure the Bills would like to see their RBs get it going in this match up, but the MIA run d hasn't been that bad. If you take out the games against Baltimore and Dallas (they gave up 500 rush yards in those two combined) then they only averaging giving up 116 per game. If they can hold Buffalo under 100 yards, the potential for an upset exists. The Bills have only ONE win in the 14 games where they failed to rush for at least 100 yards since Sean McDermott took over as coach. They had only 84 last week in Cleveland.

Houston at Baltimore (-4.5): Oooo, this is probably going to be my favorite game of the 1pms. I rarely watch the games, but I am excited to see these teams match up. My algo has this game Bal -4.5. Lining right up with the Vegas spread. Will Fuller has been ruled out for HOU. I dont have analysis for this because Baltimore should be leading in most if not all categories. But I am going to give my gut play here and its ride with the Texans. No analysis, just gut.

Arizona at San Fransico (-9.5) Another divisional rematch. This one is interesting because it has seen a pretty big line movement. It opened in most places as high as -14. But has moved to settle around 9.5/10. My algo actually has this as SF -12.5, however that doesn't account for any injuries...of which the 49ers seem to have in spades. The Niners will be without running back Matt Breida, Joe Staley, and kicker Robbie Gould. Linebacker Azeez Al-Shaair has been ruled out as he has not cleared the concussion protocol. Defensive lineman D.J. Jones has a groin injury that will sideline him this week. Emmanuel Sanders is hurt but looks to play and Kittle is listed as doubtful but who knows, we saw him dominate the last game vs AZ after his knee got reversed. Honestly, almost every article I read said the same thing. 49ers are mad injured, played 5 quarters on Monday and lost, and now play a divisional opponent on a short week that they only beat by 3 points just 2 weeks ago, bet the Cards to cover and possibly upset. That was my original train of thought too. Then I looked at the public betting percentages. Everywhere you look, 2 out of 3 spread tickets are on the Cards with some places over 70%. Yet the line has had a ton of trouble breaking 10 and with all that love for AZ you'd think it would drop to 7.5/8.5. Because of this, it appears the edge may actually be with the home team to win a blowout. Should be interesting to see what happens!

New England @ Philadelphia (+4.5): An interesting match up here. My algo has this 24-21 NE. Both teams are coming off a bye with limited injuries. The Pats will be without safety Chung, and the Eagles will be without darren sproles, alshon jeffery and deshean jackson. Jordan Mathews is questionable, but Ajayi was signed his week to help with RB depth. What makes this pick really hard is even with all these injuries to the Eagles and Bellichek's after a bye win percentage, AND 80% of the picks being on NE...the line has only moved a point, a point and a half a most. How big are the bets on the Eagles right now to keep the line from ballooning? The Eagles run d is legit, but their secondary is still crap. The Pats D was exposed last week but that was vs an MVP caliber QB lead offense. How has this line not moved?! I want to bet the Pats so bad, but there is this thread pulling at me to take the Eagles. Choose with care here boys.

Cincinatti @ Oakland (-11.5): There isn't much to say here. Cincy is winless and starting a backup QB that was destroyed last week. Oakland has some energy. They fought through a grueling road schedule and now get some rest at home. But, 11.5 points for an OAK team this year just seems like too much. And 11.5 for a cincy team with a back up QB on the road when he just lost by 40 at home...cant do it. The algo has this 24-18 OAK but thats not adjusted for the new QB. Honestly I dont have an adjustment for him because I dont know who he is! I am riding OAK to win in some parlays but points are tough. Knock on wood if you're with me. :D

Chicago @ LA Rams(-6): Last game of the day. Prime time NFC match up. While both of these teams are technically still live for a wild card spot, I don't think either will realistically make it. The Rams have a shot if they can win here AND win vs Dallas and Seattle but honestly I dont see that happening this year. Crazy enough, my algo has this game 21-20 Bears... I think if Montgomery is a go for CHI this game is much tighter. But if he sits, I dont see the offense for the Bears having as much rhythm.

Monday Night

Kansas City vs LA Chargers (+4): I dont normally add the Monday game into these write ups, but since I will have this team in my parlays and teasers, I decided to add it. I am betting this for only one piece of info I heard. (My algo actually likes the opposite side here) This game is in Mexico City. The elevation there is higher than Denver. The Chargers spent all week practicing in Denver to get their bodies acclimated to the elevation. Kansas City has stayed home. With as bad as the KC defense is, the elevation factor, and 4 points...I will be siding with old man Rivers to 2nd half comeback and cover. (and possibly win!)

Note: We have approx 17u in Bonus money from Refer-A-Friend Bonus. Also, Borgata Sportsbook emailed me this week and offered me 10u in free bets just because I made an account there a year ago and never played. Unlike alllll the other sites in NJ, it does have a rollover. It is 6x, so I will use these free bets on only parlays that way if I hit one, I will have extra funds to hit the rollover without playing it for many weeks.
Going really basic this week. Mostly spreads.
Singles 73-72-2 (+26.78u)
  • DAL -7 (1.15u to win 1u)
  • TB +5 (1.1u to win 1u)
  • JAX +2.5 (1.06u to win 1u)
  • DEN +10.5 (1.1u to win 1u)
  • Hou ml (1.3u to win 2.5u)
  • SF -10 ( (1.1u to win 1u)
  • Josh Jacobs +125 Rush yards (0u to win 4u)
  • CHI +6 Both Chi and LAC I will wait till closer to game time. I feel like both spreads might get the extra half point at some point throughout the day.
  • LAC +4
Parlays: 4-8 (+40.45u)
  • JAX +3.5, Dal -2.5, SF -2.5 OAK -2, LAC +4 (0u to win 35.7u)
Big Boy Daddy Long Shot 0-7 (-6.47u)
  • CLE ml, JAX ml, DEN ml, CAR ml, MIA ml, OAK ml, LAC ml, CHI ml (0u to win 2077u) OOOO baby, what are we thinking here? :D
  • DAL ml, NO ml, DEN +10.5, HOU +4.5, JAX +2.5, SF ml, OAK ml, CHI +6.5, LAC +4.5 (0u to win 160u)
  • DAL ml, WAS ml, DEN +10.5, HOU +4.5, TB +5.5, JAX +2.5, SF ml, OAK ml, CHI +6.5, LAC +4.5 (0u to win 376.6u)
  • Jax +3.5, Den +10.5, NYJ +2.5, HOU +4.5, NO -5.5, DAL -6.5, SF -11.5, PHL +3.5, CIN +10.5, CHI +6.5, LA +4.5 (0u to win 1046.3u)
  • DEN +4.5, BUF -12.5, JAX -5.5, DAL -14.5, CHI -2.5 (0u to win 348.9u)
  • CAR ml, JAX ml, MIA ml, DEN ml, NYJ ml, HOU ml, DAL -6.5, PHL ml, OAK ml, CHI ml, LAC ml (0u to win 14185u)
Super Big Boy Daddy Long Shot: 0-6 (-3u)
  • Its 11 am now, Im going to go to the Ocean Casino @ 12 and put one of these in. As usual, if it make it past the early games, I will post a pic for the sweat!
Teasers: 6-15 (-21.3u)
  • Its 11 am now, Im going to go to the Ocean Casino @ 12 and put one of these in. As usual, if it make it past the early games, I will post a pic for the sweat!
  • NE, GB, CLE, NYG all to win their Division (0u to win 257.8u) This is a Free bet (last one for DK, it was close to expiring)
submitted by CreateYoureReality to CreateYoureReality [link] [comments]

[Letter]As an economist I believe you are mistaken in your talks about using money as a resource and I have tried to explain why using stories.

I think that you have said and illustrated many important concepts. While I am an economist by training I have also taught various forms of mythology over the years as I see universal truths and importance in them. I found your own efforts in this matter very encouraging, but when you discuss money I think you have not learned about the things with which you speak to a great enough degree.
TLDR: Key points-> Story one- Money is not a resource but instead a means of exchange of resources.
Story two- Hoarders of money are actually quite selfless as they earn command of resources but don't use them allowing them to be used by others. That is, they enrich the world without taking back.
Is Money a Resource?
I am going to tell you a famous story from Greek mythology that helps illuminate the truth of money. (I realize in advance very few especially Jordan Peterson himself are likely to read it all, but it is worth the stab in the dark)
King Midas one day saved the son of Dionysus, one of the major gods . In order to show his thanks to the King, Dionysus offered to grant Midas a single wish. Midas, being covetous by nature, paused little before deciding that what he wanted to wish for was a golden touch. He asked the god to have everything he touches turn to gold. Dionysus warned the King to think twice before making the wish, but Midas was certain. After a deep sigh Dionysus laid the boon upon the King and then departed. Overjoyed, Midas touched a flower in his vast garden and marveled as it became solid gold. He went around his mansion touching all that he could think of, transmuting all within his touch instantly from their plain materials into lustrous shimmering gold.
He called a great feast in order to celebrate his new found power. Before him on the table there laid the finest wines, meats, fruits, and assorted specialties from all around the kingdom. He touched his wine goblet which became golden, and with a beaming smile he made a toast to the immense fortune both he and his kingdom had to look forward to. Placing the goblet to his lips, however, revealed a horrible surprise: the second the wine touched his lips, it too, became transmuted into gold. Gold would not slake his thirst. He quickly grabbed for food, but anything that he laid his hands on became solid gold. Desperately he had a servant try to feed him directly, though to no avail—the second any substance touched his mouth, whether it be the sweetest grapes or the juiciest meat, it instantly became cold, tasteless gold. Gold would not satisfy his hunger.
He ran out into his garden to his favorite bench and sat down amongst the lifeless golden flowers, cursing his fate, thinking again and again of Dionysus’ warning. His daughter came to comfort her father, laying her hand on his shoulder in order to give him solace. In that moment she was transformed from a lovely sweet girl into an unspeaking, unfeeling golden statue. At this, Midas broke down, and in between his sobs he implored Dionysus to come again and take away his golden burden. As the god had initially wished to bestow a blessing on King Midas, not a curse, he came to the King and told him to wash his hands in a nearby river to take away his power. Midas, following Dionysus’s instructions, immediately set off, and after finding the river, washed his hands. Gold came shimmering from his skin as he made contact with the flowing water, and once it had stopped, he ran back to his palace as fast as his legs would carry him. Much to his relief, his daughter was there to greet him when he returned, with the flowers of his garden once again swaying in the breeze. There are many lessons that can be taken from this story. When I first learned it as a child, the morals of the story that were emphasized were about being careful what you wish for as well as the hazards of greed. These are good lessons to be sure, however, unfortunately, they are not very pertinent to this chapter. I did promise to relate the story to the true nature of money after all, didn’t I?
What is the use of the gold to Midas? Nothing. If you can only have money and nothing else, you will have a very poor life indeed. It is instead the things that money can buy, like the wine and the food that are of value. Having money without goods is like having the poker chips from a bankrupt casino.
But what if Midas had been a little wiser in his wish? For the below story, let us assume that like modern currency, gold is only used as money to avoid unnecessary complications.
Dionysus offers him a wish of his choice. Midas quickly says: “I want everything I touch to turn to gold!” Dionysus gives the king a skeptical look and replies: “everything?” Midas, instantly realizing his mistake, he says: “oh no, that would be horrible, I couldn’t eat or drink! I might even accidently turn my lovely daughter into gold! How terrible that would have been! Instead, how about you grant me the ability to turn anything I desire into gold?”. The god says: “sure, glad you caught that error!” Under his breath he mumbles: “though you still might consider taking an economics class.” “What was that last part?” The king asked, to which the God replied: “nothing, never mind, poof it is done.” Midas turned many things into gold and enjoyed a fine banquet of only the best food and wine with the company of his daughter that day.
This version of the story might at first look like a happy ending, but let us analyze it further. Question: how does the gold speed the craftsman’s work? The farmers’ growing of food? It is true that more gold will allow Midas to purchase more things, but where do those more things come from? Since the gold does not actually make it so that more can be produced, it must mean that, instead of changing how much is produced, it is changing who gets what is produced. In this case, Midas is getting more, which means less for people who are not Midas. Money is a claim to goods and services, an increase in the claims without a corresponding increase in goods and services means each of the claims are worth less. So in this instance, the new flood of gold will make it so that a given amount of gold will be able to exchange for less real products than from before. He is taking the real value he receives from the gold holders in his kingdom, and could have achieved the same result by taxing them without using magic wishes.
Midas is actually acting precisely in the same way as someone who counterfeits money. One might imagine as a result, silver might become a more valuable metal. Perhaps then he might think that he should have asked for the silver touch instead. Hopefully you understand why this would also be folly.
Imagine we go far back in time to when humans first started farming and we dropped several tons of gold onto the early farming villages. What would it have allowed them to do? Now imagine instead that we instead gave them the wheel thousands of years before its invention. Money may be what makes an individual rich, but real things are what make a society rich. Money is just a claim to some of societies real goods.
On Aliens and Money Hoarding The following is a science fiction story to teach a very important yet deeply unintuitive lesson about taxation. It is the deeply unintuitive nature of this lesson that requires it to go well outside the bounds of normal life where our intuitions and prior beliefs hold great sway and instead enter a realm where hopefully the lesson may be learned and then applied to the world we now find ourselves in.
In a distant solar system within the Milky Way galaxy there live the Gorbulans on the planet Gorb Prime (formerly Gorblax before the formation of the greater Gorban empire). On this planet there lived a Gorbulan named Rubingorb(Rubin to his friends of which there weren't exactly a gorbload) who was entering his final life phase; his fluid sacks were hardening, his antennae was drooping, and his thoughts became increasingly contemplative as he looked at the stars. It was tradition among the Gorb that during their last life cycle (which usually lasts about twenty earth years for those readers stuck in a terrestrial mindset) they go on a pilgrimage in order to enhance Gorbulan knowledge of the galaxy. Rubin, always a lover of exocultural studies, opted to study the species and cultures of the relatively undeveloped unregarded planet we call Earth .
Using technology far beyond our understanding, capable of warping the very fabric of space-time Rubin's journey lasted only about a week, which was just enough time for him to get caught up with a brief introduction to Earth which had been lovingly compiled by AI driven probes. Upon landing his craft, he was greeted by many humans with elevated heartbeats bearing metal exploding sticks, as well as men in suits bearing nervous smiles.
After explaining himself and his mission the humans seemed much more at ease, but informed the Gorbulan that if he wished to stay on property or acquire organic molecules with which to subsist, Rubin would have to pay just like anyone else.
This created some conflict for Rubin, as he did not come to earth to perform menial tasks for resource command tokens. He could always share advanced knowledge like faster than light travel, the cure to all diseases, or the recipe to gorgock stew to gain resource tokens, but this would be in violation of "the very important directive" that stated gorbulans should not interfere with undeveloped societies.
Luckily for Rubin, minor violations of the very important directive were allowed if it was really really inconvenient otherwise. Fishing around his spaceship he found a gogfaggle, a device which he considered suitably simple to not alter human society overly much. After a quick demonstration in which he impressed the humans with its vast capability to faggle gogs (also goes ding when there is stuff) he held an auction for it. In the end, the winner was the Google corporation with a bid of four billion dollars(they of course renamed the device to the more on brand googlefaggle). Since he didn't have a bank account, Rubin received the money in dollars and proceeded to put the many briefcases worth cash in his space safe next to his sleep pod. On first examination, the safe might have seemed too small for all that cash to fit in, but the safe, much like his ship, used Gorbulan technology that made it bigger on the inside. The safe opening in this case was really just a portal that was bound to Rubin's pocket universe, providing ample space for the money as well as two of each animal on earth if the urge ever struck him (it never did, Rubin was particular about what went in his pocket universe and could only gaze in disdain at many of earth’s species). Rubin with his new found financial security finally began about his task of studying the earth’s species and cultures. On his journeys he spent very little, only enough to secure the occasional rights to visit private areas, to connect to the internet, and to acquire the organic materials needed to keep him alive (e.g. food and water, he was particularly fond of avocados as they reminded him of gges). At most, in one month he would spend two thousand dollars, and at least, well, significantly less than that.
A contingency plan for Rubin's death was already in place, his spaceship (containing the portal filled with the money as well as a few lions, penguins, and puffins species which the Gorb particularly enjoyed) as well as his body, clothes, and the many mysterious devices he possessed would all disintegrate into boring normal carbon to prevent any of it from violating "the very important directive" (don't worry about the penguins, puffins, and lions, a good pocket plane never goes to waste and they will be transferred to a Gorbulan zoo, the money on the other hand will be discarded as having no use on Gorb Prime, Rubingorb ultimately gives the planet a 2 star review on Gelp making its future neglect by the intergalactic community all but certain).
Over time many of the people of Earth began to feel resentful of the Gorbulan. Why should one Alien hold more wealth than over half the people in the world combined! (they mused as the googleflagens in their pockets dinged to inform them of the nearby stuff) And beside (it was pointed out), he isn't even using the money, it is going to waste! Following the popular call to do something the President drafted an executive alien lump sum tax order the "Alien Fairness Ordinance" (the subheading read "to prevent America from getting ripped off big time") which called for the immediate confiscation of two billion dollars from Rubingorb to be used in order to build the S.S Reallyratherlargeboat, a military boat of considerable size. The president showed up, interrupting Rubin who had been having a rather delightful conversation with a pack of crows. "Is that all?" is all the Gorbulan said in response, annoyed that all the commotion had driven away his conversation companions. At once he went into his ship, bringing out the required money, he dumped it unceremoniously in front of craft before hastily taking off to somewhere he hoped would have fewer distractions.
Three years later the S.S RRLB had finally been completed, and by some miracle it ended up costing exactly two billion dollars.
The President was hailed for his decision which not only taught that alien a lesson but also increased America’s naval defense all at no cost to any American. The triple win right was celebrated by all, well, almost all anyway. In particular, a group of economists were going around making the outlandish claim that in fact it was the American public whose resources built the ship and that Rubin hadn't actually been taxed a single cent despite being taxed 200 billion of them. This claim was so outrageous and obviously untrue as to be echoed in a never ending maelstrom of clips from late-night television with the commentators all too eager to smugly make such quips as "While Rubin might be from another planet these economists are clearly from another universe" followed by their audiences chuckling, secure in their sense of superiority. The economists would ask questions like "how could our resident Gorbulan have been taxed when he in fact would have never spent that money?" To which any sane member of the public would reply while rolling their eyes "the fact the money would have never been spent makes our point exactly, wasted money was taken in order to provide jobs building a ship and making our country stronger! Whose side do you support dear reader? Think about it and have your answer ready before reading the conclusion to the story.
Where then did the resources come from to build this large ship? You might say Rubin, but is he going to consume any fewer resources? No. If he isn't consuming less, it must mean that no resources are being diverted from Rubin. But if they did not come from Rubin, they must have come from somewhere, right? Recall the story of the slightly wiser King Midas. Is there in fact any difference between the Alien Fairness Ordinance and the "lets print 2 billion dollars because we don't know basic economics ordinance?". You will find upon reflection, gentle reader, that there is in fact not. Instead this is a case where the burden of paying for this boat is the same as the burden of those who paid for the slightly wiser Midas's consumption, or the consumption of any given counterfeiters, it is paid by the holders of money. From this, we learn a very important but rarely understood lesson, those who truly pay a tax are not those who are directly taxed but instead those whose actual command of resources are affected. Things like taxes and subsidies can't make something from nothing, instead what they really do is redirect resources from some places over to others. A good economist learns to look past money to how the flow of real resources are altered. Though this case is certainly exotic and we are very unlikely to find such pure cases in the real world, the lessons learned from it can be applied to many important real world occurrences. One application of this can be seen when analyzing a business tax. Part of the intuitive appeal in such a tax lies in the idea that businesses are the ones paying. But remembering the story of Rubin we should ask, does a business consume? Does Apple take its girlfriend out for a night on the town? Will Microsoft enjoy a quiet night in the French Rivera with a bottle for Burgundy? While it is true that businesses use resources, they do so not for the direct benefit of their use, organizations can't consume, only people can. Businesses utilize resources to satisfy consumers who will freely give up their resource tokens (money) in exchange. Those labors and resources themselves are only being performed as the owners and employees of the firm have interest in those resource tokens to advance the cause of their own consumption. In the end it is always people who must ultimately pay a tax. Instead of a business paying the tax, it is really some combination of owners, managers, workers, and customers who pay. This is emphatically not to say it is a bad idea to tax a business, in the right circumstances it might be the most efficient way of taxing. But in order to properly assess the merits of a tax we must be cognizant of the facts. In this case we must stay aware that it is not the business itself that is really paying. So instead of saying "businesses should never be taxed" It is instead to point out a particularly bad argument often implicitly made in support of the taxation of businesses. If your goal in taxing businesses it to reduce the production of a certain class of goods it certainly makes sense. However, if you want to tax rich people, it might be better to do so in a way that ensures a reduction in their resource use. Any tax that does not accomplish this cannot even be said to have truly taxed the rich. An argument against luxury taxes sometimes used is that it does not just effect the consumption of the rich but also the jobs of those working to make those luxury goods. But to see why this argument is largely nonsensical, just ask, if all the people and resources that were previously serving the rich still are, then where are you getting the resources to do the stuff with their money? The answer is clearly not the rich.
submitted by 00titus to JordanPeterson [link] [comments]

The Number 88, Trump and Predictive Media About His Presidency

The Number 88, Trump and Predictive Media About His Presidency
Here's a list of movies and media associated with Trump and whats going on right now and this isn't even half of them.

The Lego Movie

Trump is President Business from the 2014 Lego Movie
End of The Lego Movie with Donald Trump as President Business: Female Aliens Arrive [2014]
Election Day is now officially Taco Tuesday: September 4, 2016

Very prominent red tie, fixation on Mexico, trying to end the world, his number is 8 (owner of Octan. Oct = 8), lives in a tall black tower, loves to build walls, "Lets rebuild that roof to be even higher!" Constantly tries to create order but he creates chaos instead because of his pursuit of order and control. And at the end, female aliens come.

Trackdown: The End of the World [1958]

Highlights (4 mins)

Full Episode (23mins)

With four years of Donald Trump the President of the United States on the horizon, we are all going to have to find some ways to cope. My way is certainly just about the least productive possible. I will be searching for movies that provide some sort of catharsis for myself. It’s self-indulgent to the last degree, but we all need a little something.
What in the ever-loving fuck?
There was a fifties Western television series (Trackdown) that had an episode called, “The End of the World.” In this episode, the series’ main character, Hoby Gilman (played by Robert Culp), visits a town that has been left shook.
Why has this town been left in such a state of despair? The end of the world is coming of course.
Why does this town believe this? A man actually named Walter Trump (played by Lawrence Dobkin) rose up out of nowhere and claimed that the world was going to end and that only HE had the power stop it.
The people immediately fall in line and believe every word that he said. The outsider, Hoby, is the only one to call Trump out on his lies. How does Trump respond when Hoby calls him out?
Trump actually threatens to sue him.
The cops of course rally behind Trump. One of them (who is proven to be in on the scheme) asks Hoby rhetorically, “Can you prove he’s wrong?” He then says to Hoby, “It’s a lot safer to go his way than yours.”
Hoby tries his luck with the local judge who meekly stands by and says there is nothing that can be done.
Judge: "Can you prove that's what he really has in mind?"
Hoby: "It's obvious."
Judge: "But can you prove it?"
Hoby: "What if I take him?"
Judge: "On what charge?"
Hoby: "Fraud"
Judge: "Don't you see, he's not exactly guilty of fraud."
Judge: "I live here, I know these people pretty well. And right now, there's nothing in the world that can change their minds. And anyone who tries to is gonna end up getting hurt. They're not gonna listen."
Hoby: "Well what if he starts a panic, it could happen."
Judge: "Sure, you might as well try to spit out a forest fire."
Hoby: "There's got to be some way to stop him."
Judge: "If there is, I don't know it.
The judge uses an apt metaphor though to at least shed some light on the situation.
Judge: "It's a funny thing. When we were kids, we were all afraid of the dark. And we grew up, and we weren't afraid anymore but it's funny how a big lie can make us all kids again."
The story does not stop getting weirder from there. Walter Trump actually calls his device (which is simply a parasol) a “Wall” that will protect everyone from the outside danger.
As soon as Trump gets a bit of power, he punished people monetarily for there being a single vocal doubter (Hoby). That frightened people into mob violence. Hoby is attacked for providing any resistance.
When Hoby finally corners Trump, it’s revealed that our snake-oil salesman’s instincts are to buy people off. The idea clearly conveyed is that most people have been content to just sit back and take his payment in exchange for keeping quiet.
Hoby continued to resist though and recognized that proving one lie was not enough. Everything had to be a lie for people to stop believing Trump.

Walter Trump: "A message I ALONE was able to read in the fires of the universe." (25 secs)
Donald Trump: "I alone can fix it!"

He talks about technology to deflect meteors, ya know, sort of like what Trump's Space Force has been talked about doing. He also gets killed at the end because one of the people he's scheming with doesn't want to be ratted out. Also, the first name you see when the credits role is the Directors name, which is Donald.

The Avengers - S06E16 - Invasion of the Earthmen (1969 TV Show)

Following up a clue found on a dead agent Steed and Miss King pose as a married couple, enabling them to infiltrate the Alpha Academy, where they claim they wish to enroll their 'son'. The academy is run by Brigadier Brett and is supposedly for youngsters who possess super-intelligence but it is in reality a training ground for a force who seek not global but extra-terrestrial domination.
Pence: "As President Trump has said in his words, it is not enough to have merely an American presence in space, we must have American DOMINANCE in space".

The character in the show simply goes by "Trump". Although he seems to be the main guy under the leader, he doesn't do or say much. Here is an interesting conversation in the episode with the leader. Which is probably the only interesting part of this entire episode.

Miss King: "Just how do you plan on reaching the stars?" [Quote from the Baron Trump book "Remember, little baron, the motto of the Trumps, Per Ardua ad Astra — the pathway to glory is strewn with pitfalls and dangers. Google says that quote is really translated to "Through adversity to the stars"]
Brigadier Brett: "Both East and West are competing like school boys to create methods of space transportation. When the means are available, I shall lead my armies into these new worlds and colonize them."
Miss King: "Your army?"
"My army of astronauts, astronaut soldiers to be precise."
"To wage war on other astronauts?"
"To wipe them out.I will invade the new territories out there, while this world makes formal protests and looks at the rule books."
"It's happened before."
"Exactly, Miss King."
"It may be 50 years before space travel is made that easy. Your army will be old by then." AIR DATE: 01-15-69 + 50 years = 1-15-2019
"Cryobiology Miss King. We have perfected the deep freezing of human tissues.

Interesting how Antarctica is currently unthawing and all the speculation of what we're going to find in there.

There is a giant snake that tries to eat people in the show and their symbol is a lighting bolt in a yellow circle. Sort of like the Nazi SS but with just one S. Their own people also "hunt" each other.

The Odd Trump [Link to Online book]

Trump and Clinton: The Victorian Novel

I think I really began to like this Trump fellow when he tore his coat off, dived into a raging river, and saved a drowning woman after she’d been flung from a train wreck. “Save me!” she’d have cried, if only she’d been conscious. “Save me, Trump!” Oh, that Trump. Wrestling vicious mastiffs to the ground; smoothly confronting a con man on the Paris-to-Calais train with a pistol in his hand; hunting ghosts at midnight in a haunted English mansion. Rather less money on him than he’d have you believe, true, but a man of cool, levelheaded action all the same. What a character!
He is a character—I mean, in a Victorian novel.
The anonymously authored and utterly forgotten tale “The Odd Trump,” from 1875, is a ripe bit of Victorian preposterousness. Starting with the damsel saved from a train wreck, the book includes everything from a disputed will and a mysterious old servant to a cursed mansion. Also: ghostly sleepwalkers! Bloody duels! Secret sliding doors! (The latter, hidden in a conservatory, might be more accurately described as a secret sliding lemon tree.) But, most important: it has a hero named Trump.
And his old friend and sometimes rival? Clinton, of course.
“You have a regular armory, Clinton,” said Trump, as he glanced at the warlike array.
“Yes, I have gathered them up at odd times and places. Let us try a pass with the foils. . . . We will not bother with the masks. I am anxious to see if I am as clumsy as I used to be. En garde!”
Along with Trump and Clinton on lying (Trump: “ ‘Is it so very odd, to abstain from lying?’ ‘Very!’ answered Clinton, dryly.”), “The Odd Trump” contains what may be the most Victorian paragraphs ever set to paper:
Clinton? Never heard that name. But a Yankee could have a dozen names. There was that Göttingen Yankee. Ah! Stratton. Of course! The very same.
Oh ho! Mr. Trump, you knew Stratton, and you have not told me. You are very thick; close friends, I hear. I begin to think you will bear watching, Mr. Trump. And talking of watching, there is Mr. Trump on the terrace. Not alone—I see the lavender silk. Can it be the French girl? Mabel!
It’s a shame that our own era’s Clinton never persuaded Trump to spend a night in a haunted mansion, as this one does. For the American De Witt Clinton and the British Trumpley (Trump) Wailes are, it happens, college chums from the Continent, now living in Gloucestershire amid an excess of fretting about reputations, marriageability, and annual incomes. “The Odd Trump” is a curio of the fussy kind of fiction that once filled bookstores but scarcely attracts any interest today; just a year after its publication, “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” pointed American literature in a very different direction.
Even in its own time, one favorable review of “The Odd Trump” found that “the plot is rather complicated”—a sure signal to reach for the brandy. The Nation’s review was generous enough to concede that “we are always grateful to any rising literary man who does not fill us with physical loathing.” But just who was this rising literary man? The novel’s setting, in Gloucester, and the deft handling of dialogue by American characters, led another reviewer to speculate that the author of “the strange book with the stranger title” was an Englishman, or perhaps a well-travelled American.
He was, in fact, George J. A. Coulson—a native Baltimorean whose initial career, in the eighteen-forties, had been devoted more to running a downtown drugstore than to pursuing the sort of ill-starred fame found by his fellow-local Edgar Allan Poe. He was decidedly not fighting duels in English country lanes, or creeping through mansions at midnight with a lantern and a pistol: by 1875, Coulson was living in New Jersey and maintaining a Manhattan office as an accountant specializing in handling foreign exchange and import duties. “The Odd Trump” was a late bloom in a career spent among ledgers and tariff statutes; naturally, Coulson gives his protagonist a job in a banking firm, where Trump manifests such heroic talents at the foreign desk—including dodging a shady investment prospectus for a Nevada silver mine—that the hand of the boss’s daughter and control of the company inevitably follow.
Clinton and Trump together, on the other hand, are an altogether less buttoned-down combination of personalities.
Trump had risen again, throwing another pipe on the hearth, danced a most absurd pas seul, kicked a chair over, set it up again, and then resumed his seat. “Oh, what a blockhead! Mother was right. Go on, please, I am all attention. One more mouthful of beer.”
“It’s my opinion,” said Clinton, “that you have had beer enough to-night.”
It’s not long after Trump has threatened to throw a beer bottle at Clinton’s head that they discover, in the manner of all good Victorian novels, that they are in fact long-lost cousins. Will you be shocked if I also reveal that the villains get their comeuppance, and our heroes their reward?
Inevitably, anyone writing about Trump must also confront racism: in 1875, it’s in the form of Clinton’s servant, a freed slave named Agamemnon Jehoshaphat Washington Blox, whose characterization teeters uneasily between dialect comedy and actual empathy. (“I say you nebber seen a n---,” he snaps at Trump’s white servant, explaining that the correct term is “culled pussons.”) The unease was George Coulson’s own. In magazine articles written under a pseudonym, he was something of a slavery apologist, warning that abolition had brought “tramps, negroes, and aliens—many of them ex-convicts.” And some, I assume, are good people.
Coulson never quite repeated the modest success of “The Odd Trump.” Novels, including “The Clifton Picture” and “The Ghost of Redbrook,” emerged in swift succession over the next few years, and he tried to package his books as the “Odd Trump Series”—even though Trump had little more presence than in name. But Trumpism proved short-lived: just seven years later, in 1882, The Critic reported that Coulson “was in the act of writing another novel when he fell from his chair and died almost immediately” of a heart attack.
The genuine oddness of “The Odd Trump” is scarcely belied by the book itself: an old copy on my shelf, in the drabbest of brown cloth bindings, bears a sly inscription by “The Author,” the better to give its accountant-author a moment of peace, before what would prove to be a century of the far more effective anonymity of not being read. Still, for a brief season, “The Odd Trump” once again holds some peculiar pleasures. Both its time and ours have a Trump whose fortune depends in part on a casino and whose finances are a point of contention. But only one has Clinton calling Trump a “deceitful old humbug” and “an obstinate, mule-headed sucker”—until the debates, at least.

This is part of the forward in the book. In relation to todays world, this seems to be saying the only way for this to work is if Trump plays the bad guy because this generation is so full of degenerates, a genuinely good person will not become "popular" enough to be able to make any meaningful change. Trump is where he is because of his outlandish and immoral behavior. Genuinely good people don't want to get down in the mud and the ones that are successful end up getting killed.

Wrestling vicious mastiffs to the ground; smoothly confronting a con man on the Paris-to-Calais train with a pistol in his hand; hunting ghosts at midnight in a haunted English mansion. Rather less money on him than he’d have you believe, true, but a man of cool, levelheaded action all the same.
Along with Trump and Clinton on lying (Trump: “ ‘Is it so very odd, to abstain from lying?’ ‘Very!’ answered Clinton, dryly.”),

An aerial view shows makeshift shelters, tents and containers where migrants live in what is known as the "Jungle", a sprawling camp in Calais, France, on Sept. 7, 2016.
UK filmmaker on fate of unaccompanied minors in Calais
British filmmaker Sue Clayton's recent documentary "Calais Children: A Case to Answer" tracks unaccompanied minors at the infamous Jungle migrant camp in Calais. Clayton followed the children before and after the camp's destruction. The film is a human portrait, offering faces and names for the most vulnerable people in the migrant crisis, which years later still has no solution. She joined us for Perspective.

Heck of a coincidence that they would specifically mention this city in France and it would just so happen to be where a camp was made to house unaccompanied child immigrants. One of biggest focal points in Trump's presidency which has never been this much at the forefront ever in our history.

For the American De Witt Clinton and the British Trumpley (Trump) Wailes are, it happens, college chums from the Continent, now living in Gloucestershire amid an excess of fretting about reputations, marriageability, and annual incomes.

Trumpley Wailes huh?

I have already pointed out the off the wall connections with the 2 princes of Wales names, William and Henry/Harry to Trump in real life and now we have yet another one in this predictive book. Never mind the fact that Baron Trumps real name is Wilhelm Heinrich. William Henry Wales.

Baron Trump's Marvelous Underground Journey

Trump Is the Star of These Bizarre Victorian Novels

The first thing to know about Baron Trump is that he can’t stop talking about his brain. While meeting with the Russian government, he talks about his glorious gray matter. As foreign women fall for him, he mentions his superior intelligence before casting them off. He once sued his tutors, alleging that they owed him money for everything he had taught them. He won.
This Trump does not exist, except in the dusty stacks of a library, digital archive or Reddit thread near you. He’s not a member of the first family, but instead the entirely fictional protagonist of a series of somewhat satirical Victorian novels for kids.
In July, a flock of internet detectives discovered the books. The Travels and Adventures of Little Baron Trump and His Wonderful Dog Bulger was published in 1889, and quickly forgotten thereafter, as was its sequel, Baron Trump’s Marvelous Underground Adventure. They are not timeless, and were quickly overshadowed by more compelling contemporary entries in the fanciful-travel-stories-for-children genre, like A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court and The Wizard of Oz. Their author, lawyer Ingersoll Lockwood, appears in history mostly for his role in a financial tangle that occurred in the aftermath of an elderly woman's death on the railroad tracks near Philadelphia.
In these books, the young German protagonist, Wilhelm Heinrich Sebastian Von Troomp, better known as Baron Trump, travels around and under the globe with his dog Bulger, meeting residents of as-of-yet undiscovered lands before arriving back home at Castle Trump. Trump is precocious, restless, and prone to get in trouble, with a brain so big that his head has grown to twice the normal size—a fact that, as we have seen, he mentions often. No one tells Trump that his belief that he looks great in traditional Chinese garb—his uniform for both volumes—is unwarranted.
Lockwood’s books are spring break meets Carmen Sandiego meets Jabberwocky; at the start of each story, Trump sets out eager to find new civilizations—and manages to get distracted by more than one lady along the way. One of the first places he visits in Travels and Adventures is the land of the toothless and nearly weightless Wind Eaters, who inflate to beach-ball size after a meal. They are generous hosts until Trump starts a fire. The intrigued Wind Eaters draw near, and promptly explode after the air they have ingested expands thanks to the flames. As Captain Go-Whizz, “a sort of leader among them,” chases the murderer, the dog Bulger bites one of the Wind Eaters until he deflates like a punctured balloon. The pair eventually escape, leaving the briefly betrothed Princess Pouf-fah without a mate, and Chief Ztwish-Ztwish and Queen Phew-yoo with many a funeral to plan
This sequence of events—anthropological study, jilting, disaster, escape—is repeated for much of the two books, like when Trump meets the Man Hoppers, who have biker calves and puny T-rex arms, and soon runs away from their crying princess after first acquiring a book with centuries of priceless knowledge. A variation on this plot recurs when Trump visits the Round Bodies. (Perhaps a wandering life such as his was inevitable; as the book explains, he was born in the land of the Melodious Sneezers, whose alphabets consists of achoos of different length and tone.) Marvelous Underground Adventure is a slight twist on the theme, as all the societies are found deep below the dirt in Russia: the land of Transparent Folk, the ant people, and the Happy Forgetters, who dread remembering anything and will, like history, forget Baron Trump soon after he goes above ground.
And yet these strange little travelogues were unearthed, for the sole reason that they, like everything else that manages to inhale our attention spans lately, are about a Trump. Although his name almost mirrors the youngest of the Trump children (in Lockwood’s book, “Baron” is, of course, a title) the character seems eerily like an archetype modeled off the oldest of the clan, or at least an approximation of what he sees in the mirror. “The simple-minded peasantry,” the narrator notes in Marvelous Underground Adventure, “came to look upon him as half-bigwig and half-magician.” The young protagonist lives in a building called Trump—and did we mention that he is so smart that one might assume he went to Wharton? Like the real Trump, our fictional hero is skilled at inspiring nearly every person he meets to greet him with a personalized insult—including Little Man Lump, Little Man All Head, Man Tongs, Flip-Flop, Sir Pendulum Legs, stunted misshapen thing, and great-great-great-great grandson of a barbarian. The fictional Trump, too, greatly prefers familiar comfort foods to trying cuisine from elsewhere. The similarities do not extend much further; this Trump does not mind shaking hands and is willing to sleep somewhere other than Castle Trump.

Some interesting quotes from that book.

As you may remember, dear friends, my brain is a very active one ; and when once I become interested in a subject, Castle Trump itself might take tire and burn until the legs of my chair had become charred before I would hear the noise and confusion, or even smell the smoke.

Trump talks about his brain all the time and this description of getting too focused on something to not notice you're on fire seems to be pretty illustrative about Trump's tendencies to pursue something until it leads to his destruction. Kind of like what is happening with the border wall.

In this work Don Fum advanced the wonderful theory that there is every reason to believe that the interior of our world is inhabited ; that, as is well known, this vast earth ball is not solid, on the contrary, being in many places quite hollow ; that ages and ages ago terrible disturbances had taken place on its surface and had driven the inhabitants to seek refuge in these vast underground chambers, so vast, in fact, as well to merit the name of “ World within a World.”

He's basically referencing the end times, what happens at the end of every age. The Book of Revelations even talks about people being forced underground into caves because of whats going to happen on Earth. These predictive Masonic movies seem to reference the "Hollow Earth Theory" a lot.

Remember, little baron, the motto of the Trumps, Per Ardua ad Astra — the pathway to glory is strewn with pitfalls and dangers —but the comforting thought shall ever be mine, that when thy keen intelligence fails, Bulger’s unerr- ing instinct will be there to guide thee.”

Donald Trump speaking at CPAC in 2011
During my lifetime, I've always been told that a person of great accomplishment and achievement cannot become a politician or run for political office because there are too many enemies, both very smart and not so smart, strewn along this highway to success.

Interesting to note that Trump, as a malignant narcissist, only relies on his innate intelligence and on his instinct.

“I know what it all means, my dear son,” she murmured with the saddest of smiles ; “ but it never shall be said that Gertrude Baroness von Trump stood in the way of her son adding new glories to the family ’scutcheon. Go, go, little baron, and Heaven bring thee safely back to our arms and to our hearts in its own good time."

Biff Tannen from Back the the Future (who is obviously Trump) has a grandma who's name is Gertrude where he lives with her in 1955 on MASON street. Gertrude means spear of strength.

But the great thinker could not locate them with any accuracy. “ The people will tell thee ” was the mysterious phrase that occurred again and again on the mildewed pages of this wonderful writing. “ The people will tell thee.” Ah, but what people will be learned enough to tell me that? was the brain-racking question which I asked myself, sleeping and waking, at sunrise, at high noon, and at sunset ; at the crowing of the cock, and in the silent hours of the night. “ The people will tell thee,” said learned Don Fum. “ Ah, but what people will tell me where to find the portals to the World within a World?”

"The people will tell thee" might as well be Trump's own personal motto since he is driven by the group who he seeks approval from the most.

Hitherto on my travels I had made choice of a semi-Oriental garb, both on account of its picturesqueness and its lightness and warmth, but now as I was about to pass quite across Russia for a number of months, I resolved to don the Russian national costume ; for speaking Russian fluently.

China and Russia.

My trains of thought constantly disturbed by inquisitive travelling companions —a very important thing to me, for my mind possessed the extraordinary power of working out automatically any task assigned to it by me, provided it was not suddenly thrown off its track by some ridiculous interruption. For instance, I was upon the very point one day of discovering perpetual motion, when the gracious baroness suddenly opened the door and asked me whether I had pared the nails of my great toes lately, as she had observed that I had worn holes in several pairs of my best stockings.

Oddly enough, this is kind of how Trump's brain works. He doesn't plan things out or study, he just runs off of instinct.

And so we got away at last from Hitch on the Ilitch, Ivan on the box, and Bulger and I at the back, sitting close together like two brothers that we were —two beasts with but a single heart-beat and two brains busy with the same thought — that come perils or come sudden attacks, come covert danger or bold and open-faced onslaught, we should stand together and fall together!

Literally calls himself 2 beasts like from the Book of Revelations.

There had been many Trumps, but never one that had thrown up his arms and cried, “ I surrender ” and should I be the first to do it? “Never! Not even if it meant never to see dear old Castle Trump again!"

Another choice to be Trump's personal motto. "Never surrender". I'm sure this bodes well for Mueller's investigation.

The Last President (1900)

This is someone else's summary of each chapter. Keep in mind that this is the same author as the Little Baron Trump books.

The 88 Connection

If you want to see all the crazy shit dealing with Back to the Future movies, go here. Theres more than just Trump too.

Knowing: 11/9 - 88 - 33 / Goddess
I only discovered this movie and this clip a month or 2 ago and talks about all sorts of things I have been mentioning. Specifically plane crashes and it ties them to the number 88. Also talks about 11/9 , 9/11 and Diana (as in Princess Diana) and it specifically mentions this gigantic plane crash that happened in Scotland, exactly 30 years from the winter solstice and the day in which a movie about the Rise of Atlantis came out.
12/21/2018 seems like a pretty important marker for something.

The Gate (1987) 88 portal / Lightning

This is probably the freakiest one as I believe this will actually happen.
The 2 pines represent the 2 sacrifices I think (pine = pinael gland = 3rd eye). The demon he points to here looks exactly like the left mirrored side of the Jesus Vatican statue which I have pictured right next to it. More references to plane crashes. The black and red 8 looking symbol is the letter Heth (H) in Phoenician which I placed there. Its means wall or fence. Its also the 8th letter.
A literal dog named Sirius died in the WTC on 9/11. K-9 = 11-9. Sirius is known as the dog star,
Trump is a malignant narcissist which means he does what is called psychological projection. Its means he denies negative qualities about himself and then attributes them to others. So apply that to him calling people dogs and I think the matrix is telling us something here.
The Little Baron Trump books say he is known as a "half big wig, half magician". That "Magician" card was on the cover of the 2017 Economist magazine along with a host of other Trump related cards. This one has the infinity 8 above his head and hes wearing VR goggles and looks like he's hitting a switch and making everything go through some sort of portal or gate.

Donnie Darko

The first screen shot is of the engine that fell on his house. They zoomed up on it perfectly to make that image on purpose. Which so just so happens to look exactly like the Large Hadron Collider from CERN which was built between 1998 and 2008 according to Wikipedia. This movie came out in 2001. The next screen shot is of an American flag and an upside down Led Zeppelin poster. One with the Angel looking man in the shape of the phoenix and Hebrew W which stands for fire. I'll let you come to your own conclusions about that one but it was a very purposeful shot and it was right as he was leaving his house before the plane fell in his room which would have killed him if he wouldn't have left. The next one over is a short dream/vision Donnie has of what looks like a flooded city but when you look closer its his school. He then goes and floods the school to which a teacher complains because the book a class was reading was about kids who "destroy an old mans house" by flooding it. A book Donnie commented on earlier in the movie saying that the reasoning behind the destruction was just to see what would happen and that destruction is a form of creation. The "storm in a teacup" picture? Well its just one more thing that correlates to that bag of random shit I got out of no where a few months ago. Then you have the blatant references to the "Storm" and its about children. His fucking name is Donnie (Trump?) and the rabbits name is Frank. Like Frank Underwood from House of Cards or Frank as in Francis, Pope Francis.
In the movie, Donnie calls this guy who everyone thinks is awesome but he thinks is a giant liar the Antichrist and then burns his house down only for the cops to find a child sex dungeon in his house afterwords. He gets visions of giant waves, fire, the sky opening up. He goes to a Jesuit school. There a reference to a unicorn. They watch a movie called Watership Down about a rabbit that foretellls of doom coming. A movie that was just remade this year and put on Netflix btw. The 2 "bad guys' (if you can even call them that) in the movie, one of the is named Seth (the others real name is Seth, Seth Rogen) and he barely talks but he mentions Satan when he does.

Taxi Driver (Robert Deniro): 88 Assassination

And here we have more odd connections to the Royal family and Trump.
submitted by Oblique9043 to TheGreatDeception [link] [comments]

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